


i have died every day waiting for you

by iheartloofas, juvenna_reverie



Series: Week Two of Quarantine [5]
Category: Archie Comics, Howl no Ugoku Shiro | Howl's Moving Castle, Macbeth - Shakespeare, Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Yakuza, F/F, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:34:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25177753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iheartloofas/pseuds/iheartloofas, https://archiveofourown.org/users/juvenna_reverie/pseuds/juvenna_reverie
Summary: pretty much what it says on the tin, Lady Macbeth is now in the yakuza
Relationships: Lady Macbeth/Woarm Oanastryngh
Series: Week Two of Quarantine [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1788163
Kudos: 1





	i have died every day waiting for you

**Author's Note:**

> *(when u get there its pronounced like kate-ri-own-a. It’s scottish shut up)

“Oanastryngh. I’m here to call in your favor.”

The world narrowed to the drops of condensation dripping down the glass, sliding onto the tablecloth, leaving a wet ring.

“You’re not listening to me.”

“I only listen to important people—”

—One of Howl’s goons (was there a goon standing behind her this whole time?) lifted her out of her chair by her hood. “Listen here, you little shit. Everything you are, you owe to us.”

“I don’t work for you.”

“If only it were that simple.” The goon had grabbed the collar of her hoodie and had her at least three inches off the ground. Asshole. “The only reason you survived, the only reason you’re operating today, is because the Scotsman lets you.”

“Oh fuck off—”

“The old man wants an extra pair of eyes on an asset.”

“What does he need me for?” The old man had a security detail, after all. Mafiosos didn’t live long without them.

“Private bodyguard. He needs someone to keep an eye on his wife.”

“Tell him to find someone else.”

The goon let her go as Howl lifted his twin revolvers off the table and stuck them back under his jacket. “We’ll send a car for you.”

Woarm let them leave as she stared at the ring on the tablecloth.

As much as Howl was a bastard, he at least was on time. The car came on time, and the pasty-faced teen in the beanie driving explained what she would be doing as he drove her to the house and escorted her to the room she would share with her client.

The woman standing at the window turned. Amber eyes and jet-black hair framed a face that was sharp and cold and yet—alluring. Powerful, maybe, in a different way than her husband’s calculating silence. She wasn’t beautiful in the way models or actresses were, but Woarm still couldn’t stop staring. Maybe if she weren’t assigned to watch her back, she would pick her out as a threat.

“You must be the bodyguard.” The woman had the same Edinburgh lilt as her husband.

“Yes.”

The woman was silent for a moment. “What did they order you to do?”

“Keep an eye on you.”

“And where are they now?"

“I’m...not supposed to tell you.”

“Fucking hell. It’s a stakeout, isn’t it?”

Maybe she could tell her a little. “The yakuza’s getting bolder and bolder near the docks.”

The woman turned. “Who’d he send?”

“Howl and Jughead, but your husband—”

“Don’t call him that.” The woman turned away, leaving Woarm to stare at the reflection of her hard face in the moonlit window.

“Sorry?”

“You will address—him,” she bit out, “as the Scotsman, like everyone else. Or just Macbeth.”

“And what should I call you?”

“They all call me the Lady.”

“Is that what you want me to call you?”

The Lady’s face softened in her reflection, and she peered over her shoulder at Woarm.

“Caitriona,” she said. “You can call me Caitriona.”

Her face kept that same level of composure, but she crossed the room, pried open a floorboard under her bed and pulled out a set of body armor. “I need your help.”

“What?”

She stripped off her dress and slid into the body armor. She seemed calm, methodical, calmly buckling the armor until she realized Woarm was staring and stared right back. Woarm swallowed and turned around. “Macbeth has been monitoring a major player in the New York yakuza for a while.”

“Do you— you’re not going with them?”

“No. I’m going to kill their leader instead.”

Woarm started. “Arataka?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because Macbeth is too much of a coward to do anything meaningful.”

Woarm turned around, luckily, as soon as Caitriona had pulled a white button-down blouse over the body armor. She was already wearing what looked like a pair of black dress pants, but it clicked into place as she shrugged on a black tuxedo and pulled her hair into a neat chignon, hiding most of her long, inky hair. She pulled twin revolvers from under the floorboards and jammed them into the holsters. She turned to look at Woarm, finally, and grinned— something dangerous that made Woarm feel like maybe this job wouldn’t be as boring as it sounded. “You’re coming with me, right?”

Woarm watched Caitriona, as her bodyguard, but she also watched Caitriona. She learned the way Caitriona pushed open the curtains early in the morning to feel the sun on her face or watch the rain drip down the windows; she learned the softness of her smiles that she saw only in private; she learned Caitriona’s elegance and serenity outside of her room but her bottomless anger once she was free from the watchful eye of her husband and his allies. She learned the way Caitriona fought, a beautiful huntress in a storm of gunfire. Sometimes she thought Caitriona might be watching her in the same way. But that was wishful thinking. So she settled for watching the way Caitriona’s honey-colored eyes glimmered, for the peace she found watching Caitriona’s eyes watch everything else.

She didn’t know why, three months later, she was still surprised at Caitriona’s bloodthirstiness, especially after the way she had killed Arataka— two bullets to his kneecaps before she had slit his throat open from ear to ear. They were too far away from their targets for knives now, though, but unfortunately still within firing range. What was supposed to have been a routine stakeout monitoring the movements of a handful of bratva leaders was very quickly becoming a bloody firefight, if the bullet grazes on Woarm’s arms and torso were any indication. Caitriona was still fine, but—

“You need to get back!”

Caitriona fired off four shots before ducking behind one of the many shipping containers at the dock. “I’m fine.”

Woarm rounded the corner, pushing her further back behind the wall of containers and shotting a bratva between the eyes. “I’m in charge of your safety, so maybe—” she fired another shot, hitting another man in the chest— “just maybe, you could listen to me?”

“Or what?” Somehow she had climbed onto the top of the shipping container and was raining gunfire at the men below, moving like a wraith silhouetted against the city and cloudy night sky behind it. God, Cait was bea—

Cait was a lot of things, but she didn’t need that particular thought at the moment.

“Macbeth would kill me if something happened to you.”

“Forget bloody Macbeth. If something happens to you, I’ll kill you before they get a chance to.”

Woarm pulled back behind a container as the last of the bratva goons fell and gazed up at the woman standing on the container, her hair gently blowing from the breeze off the river. “Glad to see you care so much about me, Cait.”

“What did you call me?”

“You don’t like it?”

“No, I...Woarm…”

Cait’s body snapped back as an armor-piercing round struck one side of her torso and came clean through her back. Woarm was moving before she had even hit the top of the container, scooping her up and taking off. There was no way to tell where the shot had come from in the dark, and she didn’t want to stick around to find out.

Not when the hole in Cait’s side was steadily leaking blood, when the bravado in her cold face had turned to fear. Fear and—

“Woarm?”

“I’m right here, Cait.”

“Don’t go. Don’t go.” Her voice was too weak. Woarm pressed a hand to the wound, where the bloodflow had started to slow. Shit. Shit. She groped for her phone and called Howl, but there was no guarantee he would show up in time.

“I’m right here, Cait.”

“I know.” Her honey-colored eyes fluttered shut, and a sleepy smile plastered itself onto her face. “You’ll always be here, right?”

Woarm pulled Cait tighter into her, her heart sinking. “That’s my job."

“Nn—not what I…”

As the rain came down harder, as gunshots sounded from behind, Cait passed out in Woarm’s arms as she fell to her knees.

The rest of the night was a red-tinted blur. Howl had showed up, the brooding bastard, although probably more for the Lady than for Woarm’s sake. Someone had killed the last of the bratva while everyone else had helped Cait into a car and driven her to the closest hospital under mafia control. Woarm went back to her room, turning on the shower as she stripped off her bloody clothes onto the floor and watched the blood— Cait’s blood— spiral down the drain.

She shouldn’t have waited so long.

Because if it was too late—

She shut the shower off with a sharp twist, dried off, and climbed into the queen bed across from her cot, breathing in the lingering scent of perfume as she finally let herself cry.

At about four in the morning, someone knocked on the door. Woarm slid out of bed and cracked the door open.

“She wants to talk to you,” Macbeth said.

After a blur of a ride to the private wing of the hospital, Macbeth left her outside a white-painted door with a solemn nod. She took a deep breath and opened the door.

Cait was awake, although she was still tethered to an IV and probably still on pain meds. She tried to sit up when Woarm walked in but slumped back against the pillow wincing.

“Careful.” Woarm rushed into the seat next to the bed. “How do you feel?”

“Like I got shot.” She took a breath. “Woarm, I—”

Woarm swallowed. “We don’t need to have this conversation until you’re ready.”

“No. I want to tell you now.”

“This is the drugs talking.”

“It is not, so shut up and listen.” Cait grinned. “Do you remember the first time we met?”

“The part where you disguised yourself as one of Macbeth’s goons or—”

“The part where you couldn’t stop staring at me.”

“I…”

“Don’t deny it.”

“You were...strong and beautiful and confident. I thought you were the most dangerous person I had ever seen.”

“You weren’t afraid of me?”

“Never.”

Cait’s eyes watered. “When I first met you I hated that I didn’t know how to talk to you. I didn’t know how to tell you how I felt. And I…”

“You liked me?”

“I still do.”

Woarm leaned in and gently pulled Cait toward her. “Good,” she said against her lips. “So do I."


End file.
